Aug 10th, 2020 by thegooddoctor in 100 Words

I cannot thank you,
little cat with serious eyes,
for your gift of a dead mouse.

I flee from reminders
of killing. I am a vegan, and it would
be easier if you were too.

But then I would lose
your playfulness and pounce, and turn
you into a timid, nibbling rabbit.

I love you for those things,
for your wish to feed me, and for
your love for me, strange as

I must appear to you: so huge,
so hairless, so hopeless a hunter. I am thankful
for what I cannot understand, this strange
love than can span species.

From Guest Contributor Cheryl Caesar

Cheryl lived in Paris, Tuscany and Sligo for 25 years; she earned her doctorate in comparative literature at the Sorbonne and taught literature and phonetics. She now teaches writing at Michigan State University. Last year she published over a hundred poems in the U.S., Germany, India, Bangladesh, Yemen, and Zimbabwe, and won third prize in the Singapore Poetry Contest for her poem on global warming. Her chapbook Flatman: Poems of Protest in the Trump Era is now available from Amazon and Goodreads.

Quitting The Grave Cover ThumbCheck out Decater's new novel, available now at Amazon. Plus, don't forget his earlier books: Ahab's Adventures in Wonderland and Picasso Painted Dinosaurs.